


Study Break

by owlmoose



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Rare Pairing, Rival Shipping, minor characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-28
Updated: 2010-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tensions flare between Cadets Raines and Rosch, and an all-nighter takes an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Study Break

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fuck Yeah Final Fantasy. Prompt is "Raines/Rosch, rivals and lovers during their Academy days." Many thanks to Renay for beta help!

"Pointless!" Rosch tossed the sheaf of papers up in the air and then allowed himself to fall, face forward, onto the bed, his head burying itself in a mound of pillows. The paper landed on his head and back, hiding him under a blizzard of print-outs from the Cocoon Military Academy research databases: battle histories, troop capabilities, diaries of famous generals. "This battle scenario is unwinnable! How are we supposed to salvage a workable plan out of this crap?"

Cid sat back in his chair, his spine held upright by its stiff wooden back. They were working in his dorm room, but somehow, as usual, Rosch had claimed the bed for a workspace while he was stuck with the desk. At least being forced to sit up straight helped keep him awake through yet another all-nighter. "I suppose, sometimes, crap is all you have to work with."

Rosch let out a muffled snort, then sat up and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of where it had fallen into his face. The sheets of paper slithered off his back and onto the floor. "You're such a suck-up, Raines. I swear, the commandant has you eating out of the palm of her hand. If any of our other instructors had given us an assignment this half-assed, you'd be just as irritated. More."

Cid shrugged. "It's not me who's still pissed with her for sticking us together on every single project." Or, maybe he was, but at least he could keep his mouth shut about it. He stifled a yawn and glanced at the clock: almost two hundred hours. "Stupid assignment or not, it's due at twelve hundred, and we've barely made any progress at all. Maybe if you quit complaining and actually run the analysis I asked you to run three hours ago, we'd get somewhere with it."

"Yeah, right." Rosch picked up his data tablet and pushed himself back against the headboard. "I don't know why you insisted on printing all this shit out when it's all on the network."

"Easier for me to see patterns this way." Cid got up off the chair and started gathering up his papers, their meticulously crafted order destroyed by Rosch's fit of temper. He glanced up and noted Rosch, scowling down at the tablet, jabbing at the screen with an index finger. They had been forced into this study partnership by the commandant almost a year ago; sometimes he thought that Rosch was starting to see him as a friend, or at least an ally, but more often than not, their working sessions descended into these sorts of snipe-fests. Still, it was rare for Rosch to wear his irritation so openly. Maybe they were both just tired. He stood up with a sigh, leaned backward to stretch his shoulders, and took the few steps to the coffeepot in the corner. After filling his well-stained mug, he added a spoonful of sugar and stirred, then turned around. "More coffee?"

"Hmm?" Rosch glanced up, his eyes falling on the dusky yellow mug emblazoned with the seal of the Academy. "Oh. No thanks, I have my own." He pulled out a small black patch and slapped it on the inside of his elbow.

Cid raised an eyebrow. "Stim patches?"

Rosch glowered up at him. "What? They're allowed!"

"But the Academy Honor Code--"

"Disallows the use of chemical stimulants in the classroom and during examinations," Rosch interrupted smoothly. "It says nothing about using them to help increase concentration while studying." He jutted his chin in the direction of Cid's mug. "Besides, caffeine is a chemical stimulant. Would anyone stop you from bringing that mug into class?"

Cid lifted his coffee in ironic salute. "Point," he said, then took a sip. It was still hot, and he savored the burn as it went down. "Still, that's not the intent of the rule, and you know it."

Rosch shrugged. "Well, you're missing out. All the PSICOM cadets use them."

"Another reason to pass," Cid shot back. After taking another drink, he set the mug on his desk, then sat, fanning the papers out in front of him. It would take him half the night to get these back in order, but maybe by the time he'd finished, Rosch would be finished running those blasted numbers, and they could actually have an assignment to turn in tomorrow.

He had been sorting the papers into stacks for several minutes when he became aware of a presence behind him. Sitting up, he forced himself not to groan. "What?"

"Why are you bothering with this?" Cid could hear the edge of frustration in Rosch's voice. "I promise you, if you and your stupid habits cost me the top place in PSICOM--"

"Oh, come on!" Cid stood up and whirled around, knocking his chair over as he did so. "Who screwed all this up in the first place?" Rosch took a step backwards, and Cid advanced to fill the space. "How many times did I contact you about setting up this study meeting? Who's been too busy with his new girlfriend to do any of the background reading?" Rosch winced, and Cid ruffled the stack of papers in Rosch's face. "Who messed up my papers so I had to spend half an hour re-sorting them? Give me a break."

Rosch's eyes narrowed. "I'll show you sorting," he snapped, and before Cid could react, he chopped his left forearm upward, slamming it into Cid's right hand and knocking the papers loose, sending the sheets flying up into the air and then all over the bed.

"Hey!" Cid grabbed Rosch's attack arm, closing his fingers around the wrist to hold it in place. "What do you think you're doing?"

Their eyes locked, and then Rosch shook his head. "I have no fucking clue," he growled. He jerked his arm back as though to pull free of Cid's grasp; by instinct, Cid tightened his grip and pushed. With a yell, Rosch fell backwards onto the bed, pulling Cid down as he went. Cid's feet slid out from beneath him, and he landed hard on Rosch, right on top of him, their noses only an inch apart. Rosch was grabbing for his other hand, taking it in an iron grip, grappling for purchase. Cid slammed Rosch's hand back against the mattress, pinning Rosch in place. Rosch's palm was sweating, his breath hot against Cid's face. He pushed harder, letting his whole weight fall on Rosch, and he realized that Rosch was responding, lifting his hips against Cid's, eyes narrowing again, lips slightly parted, chin thrust upward in challenge.

Cid's breath caught, and he said the first and only thing that came to mind: "You're going to wreck my printouts."

"Fuck you and your printouts," Rosch snapped back, his voice low and rough, like footsteps on gravel. Cid glared back, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he paused, something telling him to wait and see what Rosch would do next. Would he try to break free, or--

And then Rosch reared up and kissed him, hard, his tongue pressing into Cid's mouth.

Too shocked to either respond or pull away, Cid froze in place. Was this why Rosch had been so irritable with him? He'd never shown any sign of wanting... But before he could sort through his reactions, Rosch closed his teeth around Cid's lower lip, and Cid felt something shatter inside him, tearing a noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan from his throat.

He let himself go, into the kiss, opening his mouth and thrusting his own tongue back. Cid slid his right hand up Rosch's wrist and took his fingers. Their hands locked together as Cid leaned his hips down, grinding them into Rosch. He could feel Rosch's cock hard against his own, and he rocked into it: once, twice, then a third time, rearing up, arching his back as he finished a long slow stroke that pulled another moan free.

"Ahhhhhhh." Rosch panted, writhed against him. "Ahhh. Harder. Harder, you bastard."

"Shut up," Cid gasped, and then he took Rosch's mouth with his own. He felt the rough stubble on Rosch's cheeks, a stark contrast to the smoothness of the hair that brushed over Cid's forehead. Finally Rosch pushed back, lifting them up with his hands, and then they rolled over, Rosch wrenching him to the side. Cid felt papers crinkling under his back, the softness of the mattress beneath him, Rosch weighing him down, making it even harder to breathe. Rosch shifted, his mouth against Cid's forehead, his temple, sucking on his ear.

Harder, they pushed together. Cid found the warm expanse of Rosch's neck beneath his cheek, and he turned, pressing his mouth against the throb of Rosch's pulse, catching the delicate skin between his teeth, tasting salt and adrenaline. Rosch shuddered, and Cid bucked in response, a hard motion that pushed them over again, and then they were rolling, rolling, off the bed and onto the floor.

They hit hard, the cold tile floor a shock against Cid's overheated skin. Between the cold and the pain, Cid came back to reality, his eyes falling on Rosch, tumbled against the wall. What the hell were they doing? Cid sat up, breathing heavily, pushed the hair out of his face, and started to tuck his shirt back in.

Rosch grabbed his hand around the wrist, and Cid looked up. His eyes were still narrow and hard, but they burned with a pale fire. "Trying to get away from me?" He pulled on Cid's arm, bringing them back together, not waiting for an answer as he fumbled Cid's pants open and pulled Cid's cock free.

Cid took a sharp breath, cool air hissing through his teeth as Rosch's hand wrapped around his shaft and pulled. Rosch was steering Cid's hand toward his own lap, and Cid took the hint, yanking the zipper downward. Then Rosch sprang free, and Cid took the cock in his hand, slowly moving his hand up and down the shaft, back and forth over the slippery skin, trying to fight the wave that was building inside him, biting his lip to keep from shouting, faster harder now now now.....

He came first, with a shuddering gasp, the wave breaking seconds before he felt a rush of heat and wet flowing over his hand. Rosch cried out, a hoarse moan that filled Cid's ears. Then they both collapsed, Cid's hand falling limp at his side. He slumped against the bed, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the mattress. Taking slow, deep breaths, letting the shaking subside, he centered himself for a moment, just as he would before or after a sparring match. When he was ready, he reached under the bed and pulled out his spare towel. After wiping the stickiness from his hand, he looked up to see Rosch, propped up on the wall, legs folded beneath him, pants back on.

"Here," he said, and tossed the towel over; it landed in Rosch's lap.

"Thanks." Rosch cleaned off his own hand, then stood, letting the towel fall to the floor as he turned in a small circle, unsure of where to go. He looked back down at Cid. "Sorry about your papers."

Cid followed Rosch's lead, rising to his feet. "It's okay." He gathered the wrinkled and torn pages together and tossed them in the recycling chute. "I should probably learn to work without notes anyway." He turned his back on Rosch and walked to the desk, picking up the coffee -- cold now, and bitter -- to take a long sip. The tension that had previously filled the room had dissipated, replaced by awkwardness. But somehow, he thought this state might be easier to live with. He curled his hands around the cup. "Let's just get this finished, okay?"

He could hear Rosch shuffling around behind him. When he turned around, Rosch had settled back down on the floor, propped against the wall, tablet in hand. "Right. I'll run those simulations now."

"Good." Cid sat down at his desk and called back up his research. As it was loading on the screen, he shifted around to look over his shoulder.

Rosch was looking back at him, eyes lifted over the tablet, a small smirk on his face.

With a half-smile and a chuckle under his breath, Cid shook his head, then returned to his work.


End file.
